


cinnamon

by InsertPseudonym



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1896081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertPseudonym/pseuds/InsertPseudonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Would I be mistaken were I to assume that you’ve been stalking me?”</p><p>“Less mistaken than you should be.” Alec says, grinning apologetically, reaching for the syrup. “I’m Alec.”</p><p>or, coffee shop au</p>
            </blockquote>





	cinnamon

He orders something different every time.

That’s why he sticks in Alec’s head. Most people who frequent the dingy little cafe on the corner stick to one drink. There’s the middle-aged businesswoman who always wants a croissant and a mocha, every morning at 8. The girl with half her head shaved and her cheerleader girlfriend, who want a mint chocolate chip frappe and two straws every time they enter, holding hands shyly – they come after school on Tuesdays. The man and his son who come in every Saturday morning at eleven to get a chocolate croissant for the boy and a black coffee for his dad.

But this guy’s an anomaly. He doesn’t visit at a certain time, or on a certain day, but always seems to show up when it’s Alec’s shift (he’s described him to Isabelle, but she claims to have never seen him.) He waits at least three minutes before placing his order – a different one every time – and is wont to give a huge list of directions as to how he wants his drink made. Alec doesn’t mind; it’s not as if the place is busy.

The guy doesn’t sit anywhere particular, either. The high school couple has dibs on the booth in the corner, the businesswoman never stays, the man and his son occupy the table with the prettiest view in the whole shop. But this guy’s been everywhere; sometimes sitting at the stools that line the counter, sometimes walking away as soon as he gets hold of his coffee, sometimes staring broodingly out the window from a booth. Again; Alec doesn’t mind. He’s just used to consistency; waking up at seven every morning, showing up for his shift at least five minutes early. glancing up as soon as he hears the door open and asking, “The usual?”

Of course, with this guy, that’s impossible. So Alec’s taken to memorizing the way he wants certain drinks. Hold the whipped cream on all cold coffees except anything with caramel – extra on those, actually – “black coffee” really means “black with three sugars”, cinnamon on almost everything when it’s fall. Alec isn’t really sure why he does this; perhaps it’s because it throws him off a little less, because it means at least a little consistency.

Regardless of reason, in a couple months, Alec can complete his order in his head. So when the guy walks in in the middle of October and starts to order, Alec stops him midway.

“Iced Cara--“

“Iced Caramel Cappuccino, large, Extra whipped cream, cinnamon, two sugars. Right?” For a second the guy looks astonished, and then he smiles; Alec’s never seen him smile.

He’s actually quite attractive.

“…Yes, actually.” He says, still smiling. “Would I be mistaken were I to assume that you’ve been stalking me?”

“Less mistaken than you should be.” Alec says, grinning apologetically, reaching for the syrup. “I’m Alec.”

“Magnus.” And the guy now has a name, albeit an unusual one. Alec grabs the cinnamon shaker as he replies, and thinks that for once, he isn't at a loss for words.

He doesn't mind this new information as much as he wants to.

*     *     *

 

Magnus is fun to talk to.

Since their first actual speaking encounter, Alec has taken to smiling widely every time he sees the head of spiky black hair walk in. Magnus's habits have also changed, in that they have become somewhat regular. He visits on Wednesdays, between 6 and 8 in the evening, and has taken to ordering the same drink.

“Is there a particular reason why you didn't come here at a set time before we started talking?” Alec finds himself asking one Wednesday, going through the capuccino-making movements that have become second nature to him. Magnus shrugs.

“I guess I didn't have a reason.” Alec wonders if the heat on his cheeks shows as he passes the drink across the counter, and sees Magnus reach for his wallet.

“Don’t, it’s on me.” He blurts out instinctively, and Magnus pauses, looking up at him.

“Okay then.” He says with a light smile, accepting the drink. Alec figures what the hell, he’s been awake for twelve hours, he might as well treat himself as well. As he bends to reach for another cup, Magnus takes a seat at the counter.

“Is there a particular reason why you’re paying for my drink?” he asks, smirking slightly.

Alec shrugs, smiling. “I...” He trails off as he fills his cup to the brim with foamed milk. "I guess I don’t have one. A good reason, I mean.”

Magnus smiles again. Shit, Alec thinks. Shit. “Could it possibly be because you’re attracted to me?” he asks the question like most people ask what the weather's like. Suddenly Alec is very glad that he isn’t pale enough to blush noticeably. “You’re blushing.”

Shit. Maybe he is pale after all.

“Possibly.” Is all Alec says, smiling but refusing to look up.

When he's finished making his own cup, he raises it to Magnus's. “Cheers.”

“To the possibility that both of us are attracted to each other.” He offers, almost shyly. He’s smiling again, not smirking; a genuine, bashful grin. Alec smiles back.

“To the _probability_ that both of us are attracted to each other.”

“To the likeliness.”

“To the _extreme_ likeliness.”

“To the almost-certainty.”

“To the _absolute_ certai--”

 

 

He tastes of cinnamon.


End file.
